


Dinner Might be Late...

by Maybethereshope



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bank Robbery, Damen is a baker/chef, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hostage Situations, Laurent is a cop, Married Damen/Laurent, Nothing crazy explicit though, Original Character(s), POV Laurent (Captive Prince), though that is really only alluded to for the most part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 21:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20316250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybethereshope/pseuds/Maybethereshope
Summary: Captain Laurent of Delpha's 3rd Precinct is packing up to go home for his anniversary dinner with his husband when a deputy tells him he's been called to a bank robbery to do what he does best: hostage negotiation. Laurent wants to get home, so he goes into it with the same confidence he has every time. After all, he's done this a hundred times, what could be different about this one?





	Dinner Might be Late...

**Author's Note:**

> So this is unbeta'd, but I read it through bout 6 times to try and find all the typos/inconsistencies, so let me know if I've missed anything. Constructive criticism is welcome, but please be kind. I'm aware the pacing is horrible and that I copped out on some things, but honestly I haven't written ANYTHING in so damn long I just had to push this out to prove to myself I could put words on a page. 
> 
> Plus, I do love me some angst. 
> 
> Enjoy! Comments are cherished always.

Laurent’s office door opened forcefully, though the intruder was kind and smart enough to catch it before it could bang itself into the wall. Nevertheless, the blinds clattered loudly for a moment before stilling. Laurent glared for a moment before raising his eyebrows in question.

“Bank robbery down on 49th and Ash. The guys on the scene say it’s definitely your arena, Captain,” the young deputy said, having the good grace to look at least a little chagrined at having interrupted Laurent in his packing up to go home. 

“Can’t you have Holmes take the call?” he asked, continuing to gather up his files and his laptop.

“No, sir. He’s out on a homicide tip. Plus, Chief asked specifically for you. Says it’s...delicate.” This time, the man’s face turned ashen as he watched Laurent stop and set down his bag with a deep sigh. 

“How many do they think?”

“They can only confirm eleven, seen from a window before the perp herded them into the back, but it’s 4:30 on a Friday in downtown…”

“You’re right, there’s gotta be more. Tell Chief I’m on my way. And get Nicaise in the surveillance truck ASAP!” he yelled at the deputy’s retreating back as he presumably scurried off to relay Laurent’s message to the Chief. Laurent definitely didn’t envy whoever was going to call up their resident IT Specialist--though, Nicaise specifically referred to himself as a government mandated hacker--from his early evening beauty sleep to come and deal with a hostage situation. 

Well tough shit, Laurent thought. He was supposed to be headed home right now. It was their 3 year wedding anniversary and Damen was cooking lobster goddamnit. Laurent was NOT going to miss it. He’d handle this, a routine bank robbery probably by some less than average intelligence desperate dude, and go home to his husband in peace. 

It wasn’t that Laurent was callous about these things; he did care about people, including those driven, by their own circumstances, to commit crimes like these. He’d just seen enough cases that they all started to run together in his mind. Not to mention that he’d learned, way back when he started on the force, to not bring work home with you in ANY sense of the word. That meant no overanalyzing what could have been, no psychology research into perps that got under his skin, no replaying things he’d done in different lights, because he knew he couldn’t change them. 

So Laurent, in his own head, thought of this as just a routine negotiation, get in, get out, put the guy behind bars and get the hostages to safety. He’d done it nearly a hundred times throughout his career; he could do it one more time. 

When he got to the scene, it was predictably chaotic. News outlets had picked up on the situation and were swarming the bank like flies. Laurent wedged his unmarked cruiser in between the van they used for surveillance and tech gear and another cruiser, this one marked and lighted. He got out of the car and was immediately handed a vest of body armor to put on over his uniform. Even though he technically could work in plain clothes, Laurent still wore his blue uniform while on duty. In his head, it was just another one of those things that let him shed Work from himself when he came home. When he was uniformed, he was Captain Laurent Akielos of the Delpha Police Department’s 3rd Precinct, expert in domestic terrorism and hostage negotiation. When he took it off, he was Laurent, husband to Damen, the greatest baker of cakes and griller of steaks the world had ever known. 

Obviously, they’d met when Laurent was a beat cop who’d practically stumbled into Damen’s corner bakery while it was being held up with, of all things, a broken off plastic spoon. The assailant had waved it at the hulking man behind the counter as if it were a 6 pound sword. The man at the counter was standing sheepishly with his hands up, staring back and forth from Laurent to his potential assailant. Eventually, Laurent burst into action and locked the guy in a wrestling hold he’d learned from Auguste when they were teens. 

He’d looked back up to see almost literal hearts in the huge man’s eyes. Though it was only short lived since, as soon as the man had regained his composure, he asked if Laurent would like a donut from the fresh tray that was cooling in the corner. Laurent glared at him with a look that had withered much lesser men to nothing and didn’t speak another word until his partner came to help him take the would-be robber in. The huge man just stood there confused and absolutely not adorable at all. Not even a little bit.

Of course Laurent fell for him. And two years later they were married. And goddamnit they were going to celebrate their goddamn anniversary tonight. 

After suiting up, Laurent turned to Jord, his right hand Lieutenant. “What’s the full story?”

“Guy went in about 4 o’clock. Clearly no visible weapons until he wanted them to be, considering no one raised an alarm immediately. Probably concealed in a shoe or jacket until he was at the teller counter. We got one eyewitness that says he saw the guy through the window, holding a gun to the teller, with six or seven other tellers at their stations and dozens of customers still in line. By the time we got here, there were only a few left to see in the lobby. We figure the rest of them are hidden somewhere so they don’t get any cute ideas.”

“Let’s hope for their sake they don’t. No heroes among hostages except those that keep their heads down.”

“Yeah. About five minutes before you got here he shoo’ed ‘em all away from the windows. We can’t be sure how many there are in there but it’s safe to say there’s probably at least thirty to forty total.” Jord was just as methodical as Laurent was at most times, reporting to Laurent like a captain in battle. But this time he looked just the slightest bit weary.

“You alright, Lieutenant?” Laurent asked.

“Yeah. Just got a bad feeling, that’s all. He hasn’t contacted us at all yet, and we were waiting for you to get here to call inside. We have no idea what he might want,” Jord stated. 

“Well whatever it is, he’ll have to get it in a three by five at the all expenses paid iron motel,” Laurent muttered grimly. “Is Nicaise here yet?”

Jord pointed at the van. “Pissed as a wet cat but yes, sir. He’s in there.”

Laurent opened the back and climbed in. Nicaise was sitting with two other officers in front of an array of screens, his eyes flicking to each one in turn as his fingers clicked and tittered over the keys at rapid speed.

“Tell me something good, Nicaise,” Laurent said by way of greeting, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“For bank security, it’s pretty shitty. Gimme like 10 minutes and we’ll have eyes and ears inside,” he barked before going back to ignoring Laurent entirely. 

One of the officers handed him a brick of a phone. “Sir? Chief says everyone is in position.” 

With one final sigh, Laurent held the phone up to his ear and clicked Call. 

It rang for what seemed like half an hour, but eventually a voice came over the line. “Hello?” It was trembling, scared, and desperate. Laurent would bet his life savings it was the perp. 

“Hello,” Laurent answered. “Who am I speaking with?”

“Like I’d tell you.” Bingo.

“Are you the person holding the bank hostage right now?” He let just the tiniest bit of his exasperation seep through. 

“I’m the guy who will kill everyone in here if you don’t fucking help me,” the man answered back. Laurent knew he wasn’t quite that far. Yet. He had to tread carefully. He was clearly afraid, yes, but he was also reckless enough to believe he had nothing to lose at this point. 

“Okay, okay. What can I help you with? What do you need?” he asked, practiced concern slipping into his voice now. He’d established he wasn’t going to be a doormat, now the guy had to start trusting him. 

“You a cop?” the man asked. 

“Yes,” Laurent answered truthfully. “And no. I’m a mediator. I’m here to speak on your behalf to those who might be able to grant any demands you might have. We’re prepared to give you what you need, if you’ll let us, but we’ll have to come to an agreement that’s beneficial to everyone.” He kept his voice even, almost robotic now, exuding authority. The man would believe he was telling the truth, that he had the power to grant whatever wishes the man might have. Whether that was true or not. 

“I suppose you want me to let all these people go?” the man said.

“That would be beneficial to them, yes. Is that something you’re prepared to do?”

“Not really. It’s not beneficial to me.”

“Then what can we do for you, sir? Why are you robbing a bank? What is the money for?” Usually Laurent wouldn’t cut right to the chase like that, but he read the man as no-nonsense. Even though the genuine fear in his voice, Laurent could tell this man had seen a couple or three hundred procedural cop shows. He knew the drill, as much as one could from such garbage. He probably didn’t even need the money, Laurent thought. Just the catalyst that would put him in contact with someone who could grant his wishes.

Someone like Laurent. 

“I don’t need money, you idiot. I need a fucking kidney!” he cried angrily. In the background, Laurent heard gasps and someone crying. He was probably standing and waving a gun around in front of a group of innocent people who had all just wanted to deposit their Friday paychecks and go home. Laurent ran a hand over his eyes again and looked over at Nicaise. 

He was still clicking away, his eyes moving rapidly over the screens. Laurent tapped him on the shoulder and raised a brow in question. Nicaise stuck up two fingers. Two minutes. Almost there. 

“Sir, are you telling me you need a kidney transplant?” Laurent asked. Keep him talking, focused on Laurent and not his potential victims. 

“You’re a bright one aren’t you. Are all your drawings up on the police station fridge?” the man mocked, even though his voice was still clearly hysterical. Laurent chose to ignore the comment.

“I’m assuming you haven’t got family that can match you? Otherwise why would you need to hold up a bank? And you did say it wasn’t about the money.”

“I got no family. Don’t need the money, healthcare is paid for. I could get the transplant easy, but I’m too far down the list, they say. Doc says I only got a month, but I got six months left on the list!”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” Laurent said calmly. He did genuinely feel for the man. To express his concern in a more concrete way, he continued, “Is there something I can call you, so I can talk to you like a person? Sir is so formal. You don’t have to give me your real name, just something you’d like me to call you.” His voice was still monotone, but soothing. 

After a long moment of silence in which the crying in the background became less and less audible, “Peter. I’m Peter.”

“Peter. I’m sorry you’re in this situation. Sometimes the system just doesn’t seem fair does it?”

“You bet your ass it isn’t fair. I’m gonna sit by and die while all these rich fuckers get a free ride to the top? Fuck that. I’m taking my kidney if I have to. Just gotta figure which one of these nice people is a match. You think you can get a doctor in here?”

“I’m sure it can be arranged. Though I’m not a medical professional, so I’m not sure how viable any testing done on the fly is going to be. Is there any way you’d consent to going to the hospital? We would give you a police escort, no questions asked.”

The man snorted. “Sure. Police escort. In cuffs and straight to jail. No, I’ll take my chances here.”

“Doctor it is. I’ll call you back in ten minutes. Please refrain from unnecessarily terrifying the people with you.” Laurent hung up the phone and turned to Nicaise, who pointed at a screen that now showed security footage of the bank. 

He cycled through the different cameras again and again until they caught a flash of movement in a corner. Nicaise overrode the mechanics and used his keyboard to turn the camera to the left side of the room, and there was the man with the gun. In front of him were three hostages, but the camera quality was bad enough at this distance that it was hard to tell their faces and forms apart. 

“Can we get closer in? To both him and the hostages?” Laurent prodded, flicking open his own phone to call the Chief. 

The Police Chief, presumably in one of the groups stationed around the bank, answered quickly.

“Laurent, what did you find out? We can’t see anything from our angle.”

“Sir, the man inside has three hostages close by, the whereabouts of the rest are still unknown. He’s got a firearm, a small pistol by the looks of it. He says he means to take a kidney from one of the hostages,” he finished.

“...Seriously? What was he going to do? Cut it out and sew it in himself?”

“Not sure, sir. But I’m working on pulling a plan out of my ass here. How fast can we get Paschal here?”

“Paschal? Why on earth would we want to--Laurent, I swear to christ if you--”

“I know what I’m doing, okay? Just call him, will you?” He was toeing the line with what was acceptable when talking to his superior. 

“Why don’t you? He adores you much more than he can tolerate me. You were always his favorite, helping him put away tools and organizing supplies in all the cabinets when you were like six,” the Police Chief said. “You’d be the one who could convince him to play a human doctor in a hostage situation just to lure out the perp, not me.”

Laurent was silent for a moment. “You have a point. I’ll call.”

\---

“Now, you’re not going to be doing any actual medical things, okay? You’re just going to draw some blood from the guy. At least, that’s what you’ll tell him. That you’re going to test everyone’s blood against his so we can figure out who’d be a match for him,” Laurent explained. 

“I’m assuming I’m not actually going to determine which of those poor people will be involuntarily donating a kidney, am I?” Paschal asked. 

“Of course not. You’re going to feign at drawing his blood, but you’ll have a needle full of sedative. Dose him with it, and we’ll go in and do the rest. Easy,” Laurent deadpanned.

“Your schemes haven’t gotten any more imaginative than they were when you were twelve,” Paschal answered. 

“Yeah, well, when I was twelve I still wanted to be a veterinarian like you. And somewhere along the line I gave up cleverness for straightforwardness. Who knew?”

“I think I know who’s influence that is,” Paschal said with a very small smile. 

“I met him much later than twelve,” Laurent rolled his eyes. 

“Are we doing this, or what?” Nicaise barked. “If so, I’m going to need you to stand here,” he pointed to a spot in the middle of the camera’s view. “So we can get a good look at the perp while it’s going down.”

Paschal studied the screen, presumably orienting himself to the room so he could do as Nicaise asked. Laurent put a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, I won’t blame you if you back out. It is dangerous, but you’re the only one here on short notice that could inject someone with little to no error. If I send one of my men in there they’re liable to put the needle in his neck or something. From beginning to end, it has to look like you know what you’re doing, which you do. We’ll be on the phone the whole time, either with him or, if he allows it, with one of the people he has near him. You’re not going to be wearing a wire, so we’ll have to rely on the phone to know what’s going on. Once the sedative kicks in, let us know. Do not let people just start running out. Find someone level headed, and get them to cooperate with you, so we can get everyone out calmly and orderly. Got it?”

“No problem at all,” Paschal said. He actually sounded like he meant it. 

Once Laurent’s favorite neighbor from his childhood was strapped into a bullet proof vest like the rest of them, Laurent went out, phone in hand, to guide him to the door. He thought about what this night could have been. He hadn’t even called Damen to tell him he’d be late. Of course, he’d probably already seen what was going on via the news crews that were stationed everywhere just outside the barricades. Damen himself was probably cooking right this moment, getting ready for their perfect planned celebration, and cursing the world for pulling Laurent away from him. 

Laurent kept those idle, mundane thoughts with him, just to keep himself sane. 

Of course, that’s when the Chief himself walked over from his own post, just as Laurent and Paschal were getting into position to call up the perp and negotiate Paschal’s entry. 

“Laurent, I don’t have to tell you how dangerous this is, sending a civilian inside…” he started.

“That’s right, you don’t. And there are plenty other civilians inside who can’t help themselves. This one has agreed to do what he can.” He nodded at Paschal, who was looking remarkably calm despite what he was about to do. It startled Laurent to think that it was because Paschal trusted him.

“Getting people to trust your judgement has never been a challenge for you. I’m just hoping you’re looking at this with a clear head,” the Chief said, giving Laurent a long look, to which Laurent fought the urge to roll his eyes as he would have done if this person had been counseling him about where he was going to college or who he’d decided he was going to marry after knowing them for less than a year, as he had done in the past. 

But they were at work, not home, and he needed to show his superior respect in front of their men. Still, he leaned in close and murmured, “Auguste, I know what I’m doing. When have my plans ever not worked out?” He then stepped back and shook his head sharply when his brother the Chief of Police opened his mouth to read him the laundry list of times they had not. 

Eventually, they were ready, and Laurent called up the perp inside. 

“I have your doctor, as requested. This is how it’s going to go: We’ll let him in the front door. I don’t expect you to be there to meet him, but someone should be. He will then be able to test your blood to see who’d be a match for you. Now, we can’t do this completely your way. You can’t just force someone you hold hostage to donate an organ to you. But what we can do is find out how to match you, and move you to the top of the list. Capiche?” Laurent spoke quickly and sharply.

“You can do that? Just move me right to the top, huh? Yeah right,” Peter scoffed.

“Well, to be honest, we do have that kind of pull when it means saving dozens of lives, Peter. How many people do you have in there?” Laurent asked patiently. 

“Don’t know. Thirty, maybe. Place was crowded. Did that on purpose.”

“Well, there you have it. We’re willing to break the rules to help that many people. Now, are you going to let the doctor in and let him help you? We have to know you’re going to cooperate because if you’re not, we’re not going to put him in unnecessary danger. Are you going to play nice? And maybe have a kidney and a life by the end of this?”

Peter was silent for a few moments, during which Laurent locked eyes with his brother. Auguste took in a deep breath and held his gaze steadily. Then he heard Peter answer, “Yeah. Yeah let him in.”

“Alright. Stay on the line. Understandably, we want to know everyone’s okay at any moment. Is that okay with you?”

“What would you say if it wasn’t?” Peter challenged.

“I’d say we need to renege on the deal, since you said you weren’t going to hurt anyone. We need a little cooperation, alright?” Laurent’s voice was methodical, cold, authoritative. No matter how badly he wanted to get the hostages out, he wouldn’t put Paschal in danger as well without knowing how it would turn out.

“Whatever. Send him in.” 

Laurent held the phone to his ear, turned to Auguste and Paschal, and nodded. “Hold your weapons! Hold fire!” Auguste called to the surrounding officers. Paschal took a deep breath, and began walking toward the front door to the bank. Their group was standing about 20 feet from the door, so Paschal had to walk a little. Just as he approached, the door opened out to the street. Laurent couldn’t see who was behind the door, but he saw Paschal hesitate for a moment before going in.

“He’s inside. He’s got a syringe to draw your blood. He’ll need that to analyze so we can find a match, okay?”

“Whatever.”

Laurent cocked his head in the direction of the surveillance van, and Auguste followed him back inside it. Nicaise was still seated in front of the array of screens, swinging back and forth in his chair with his hands steepled in front of his mouth, watching intently. Auguste went to sit beside him to watch the cameras as well. Laurent continued to pace with the phone held to his ear.

“Doctor’s here. What do I have to do?” Peter said.

“Just let him direct you. He’s the medical professional here, and the only one in the vicinity that can help you right now. You’re going to to have to trust what he says,” Laurent said. 

“Fine. I’m going to hand over the phone to another guy here. Don’t get any cute ideas about plotting against me, ‘cause I’ll know. Got it?”

For a guy who was supposedly slowly dying as they spoke, he had a lot of nerve. But then again, Laurent guessed he didn’t have much to lose in the grand scheme of things. “You’re the boss,” he answered.

Just as he heard the rustling of Peter undoubtedly handing the phone over to one of the hostages, Laurent also heard Nicaise’s hushed voice next to him. “S-sir? Captain…” He sounded hesitant, afraid.

“Laurent, stay calm, be careful…” Auguste said lowly.

Laurent didn’t understand what Auguste could mean by that, so he turned back to them and the screens, showing the security feed from inside the bank. He gave them a confused look, so Nicaise pointed at the bottom right screen, which showed three figures in the middle of the room. The furthest from the camera was easy to make out as Paschal, since Laurent knew what he was wearing, along with who he assumed was Peter standing close to him.

That left the subject closest to the camera, which Laurent focused on last. And then, he felt his breath stop in his chest, and his heart stuttered double-time. 

There on the screen, holding a landline attached to a desk, profile unmistakable, was Laurent’s own husband. Damen’s face was turned to the side, presumably watching the other two. Paschal was standing next to Peter, but they weren’t close enough to touch yet. Damen was watching them like a hawk. Now, Laurent thought, Paschal’s hesitation at the door made sense. Damen must have been there to lead him in. Paschal had been over to their house for dinner more times than he could count, enjoyed Damen’s jokes and his cooking. Damen knew how special Paschal was to Laurent, how close they were. 

Of course Damen would look out for Laurent’s interests ahead of his own. 

And of course, Damen would be intimately aware of who exactly had been on the phone with Peter this whole time. He knew Laurent’s work, knew how he was called in to handle the most delicate of situations despite his otherwise sometimes callous nature. Damen would know his husband was on the other end of the line he’d just been handed. 

“Don’t,” Laurent snapped quickly, still staring at Damen’s profile on the screen. “Don’t say anything yet. If he finds out you and I are connected in any way, we don’t know what he’ll do. He’ll have leverage he doesn’t need, and I will not have his radar on you any more than it already is. Just stay calm, okay?” His voice betrayed his own fear, panic setting in and causing his voice to shake in a way it never had during a negotiation. 

He tried to keep himself from losing it. This was his job, he did this kind of thing nearly every day. This was just another situation that he’d work out and then he’d go home victorious. He tried desperately to stay in Work Mode. But he couldn’t stop staring at Damen’s face on the screen, couldn’t stop picturing what might be going through his head right now. But then, Damen’s voice came down the line, calm and collected as ever. His rock.

“Okay. We’re all okay, no one is hurt. What should I do, officer?” He sounded relatively detached, but Laurent saw right through it. He hoped to god that Peter couldn’t. 

“Stay on the line with me. Let me know if anything happens. But otherwise, do whatever Peter tells you to do. Ask him if you can tell me where the others are.” His hand raised toward the computer screen, touching Damen’s cheek for a moment before he backed away. He heard Damen do as he asked.

“They’re in the vault. They went in immediately. Myself and two others have been with Peter the whole time.” Still calm. Soothing. He was trying to calm Laurent. 

“Why you three? Did he say?” He tried to keep his voice steady. He was regaining his control slowly, going back to the state of mind he needed to be in. 

“Not really. The other two are tellers, and I was at the window when he walked up. He didn’t point his weapon at anyone yet, just showed us he had it.”

“Okay. How is it going with Paschal?”

“Peter is a little distrustful of him so far,” Damen said lowly. 

Just then, Laurent heard Auguste gasp, “Shit.” He tore his eyes from Damen on the screen to see Peter shoving Paschal away from him, slapping the syringe full of sedative out of his hand. He was yelling and advancing on the doctor, brandishing the firearm haphazardly. Clearly he’d caught on to the ruse, and Laurent felt his stomach drop as he felt the guilt seep in. He’d put Paschal in danger and now it had backfired on him. 

In the next moments, Laurent learned just how much it would cost him. 

He, Auguste, and Nicaise watched in horror as Peter pointed the gun at Paschal and pulled the trigger. At the last moment, Damen dropped the phone with a clatter and launched himself at Paschal, tackling him to the ground just as the shot went off. They disappeared from view of the camera for a moment.

“Find them, Nicaise!” Laurent practically yelled. Nicaise began tapping away at the keyboard until the camera shifted to the floor. Paschal was sitting up and breathing hard, but Damen lay still on the floor. Laurent watched with his heart in his throat as blood began to pool on the tiles. 

Laurent was still clutching the phone to his ear, and he heard Peter pick it up but it took everything he had to get his brain working enough to listen to what the man had to say. 

“Well, that didn’t go as planned did it? I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you. Usually, when doctors take your blood, it’s with empty needles!” Peter yelled. 

“Peter, please, put the gun down. It didn’t have to come to this—“

“You’re right, it didn’t. I didn’t mean to shoot anyone when I came here, but goddamnit I demand some respect! Not to be swindled and outsmarted! You were gonna dose me up with something weren’t you? You assholes!”

“It was me, Peter, it was my plan. The others have nothing to do with it. The doctor agreed because he trusted me, and clearly that was the wrong thing to do. I can…I can hand the negotiation over to someone else if you’d rather not deal with me, but please, please put down the gun and let the doctor tend to…to the man who’s been shot,” Laurent begged. His professionalism had gone out the window, and he’d barely caught himself from saying Damen’s name. He still didn’t need Peter knowing about them. There was no telling what he’d do in retaliation. And it would kill Laurent to let Auguste take over when it was Damen in there for christ’s sake, but he’d do it if it saved Damen’s life. He’d do absolutely anything. 

“You’re right. He needs a hospital. I’m not a very good shot though, so he’s probably fine. Well, relatively speaking.” Peter had turned his back on Paschal and Damen and started pacing back and forth in front of the desk the phone was attached to, which put him closer to the camera. Laurent could feel his blood boil just at the sight of him. “Alright. You can come get him. I didn’t mean for anyone to die here. I’m not that guy.”

“Okay, okay, we will send some paramedics in,” Laurent started.

“No. No one unnecessary. You. You can come get him, officer. Come clean up your mess,” Peter said coldly. 

Laurent hesitated for a moment. He was definitely going in for Damen, but he wasn’t stupid. There was a catch to this, or Peter wouldn’t have insisted it be Laurent and no one else better qualified. 

“Will you also let the doctor leave?” He asked. “And the two tellers with you?”

“Don’t get greedy. Just come on in and we’ll talk all you want,” Peter retorted.

“Fine. I’m coming in,” Laurent said, and hung up the phone before tossing it at one of the other officers in the van. 

“Laurent, this is a trap—“ Auguste started, the same fear in his eyes as Laurent was sure was in his own.

“You think I don’t know that? But I have to—I have to—“ His voice was trembling again, but it wasn’t fear for his own life at all.

“I know you do. I just wish you wouldn’t,” Auguste sighed. He knew he couldn’t stop Laurent at this point, but Laurent also knew that Auguste had just witnessed his brother in law get shot and he wasn’t keen on the same thing happening to his brother. But this is what they did with their lives. Risked them. 

And what better time to do that than now, Laurent thought. 

He approached the bank’s front door, and opened it himself. There was no one here to greet him as there had been for Paschal, but he didn’t expect such niceties. He followed a hallway to the right where he could hear voices, one of which sounded like Peter’s. 

When he arrived in the room where Damen lay on the floor bleeding out, it took everything in himself not to fall to the floor next to his husband and sob. Laurent had the dangerous job, he was the one who had to reassure Damen he’d be home safe every night. Laurent was the one who should be lying in a puddle of blood on the floor, not Damen. 

But he had to maintain his composure, so as to keep up the ruse that Damen was a stranger to him. Of course, those hopes were dashed the minute Peter opened his mouth.

“I’m not stupid, you know. I’m also not deaf. I could hear you through the phone. This guy means something to you, doesn’t he? You said you were connected. Judging by just your looks, I think we can rule out brothers or cousins. So, best friends?” Peter mused. Laurent shut his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. This couldn’t get much worse, so he gave in to his impulse and knelt at Damen’s side, gathering up the material of his husband’s cotton shirt and pressing it to the wound under his rib cage. 

When he’d applied adequate pressure, he looked back up at Peter to plead with him some more, but was stopped at the look of contemplation on the man’s face. His eyes were flicking back and forth from Laurents hand on Damen’s abdomen to somewhere next to Damen’s hip. Laurent saw the moment when it clicked and he swallowed audibly.

“How long have you two been married, officer?” Peter asked snidely.

“Three years today,” Laurent replied softly, moving his eyes back to Damen’s face, watching his chest as it rose and fell. Every movement was a gift. “Please, please let me get him to a hospital. He’s dying—“ He could hear the tears in his voice before he felt them on his face. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get there. Tell me, would you donate an organ to him if he asked?”

Laurent thought this was an odd question, but he answered honestly. “I’d give my life for him in a heartbeat. That’s what our vows meant to me.” He locked eyes resolutely with Peter, who looked resentful. 

He chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah. Thought so. My ex-wife didn’t feel that way. Soon as she found out she was a match for me, she ran. Haven’t seen her in a couple years. She left me to die. What kind of spouse does that?”

Laurent couldn’t imagine leaving Damen to die in a situation like that, or any, for that matter. He’d gladly take his place now. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m sure you’re angry and that’s why you’re lashing out like this, but killing other people will not make your life last longer. We will get you help, but only if you cooperate. We can’t let you just walk out of here, you know that. But we can help save your life. If you let me save his. Please,” he begged, one last time.

“Fine. He can go.” Laurent breathed a small sigh of relief, making to stand up and try and get Damen, who had fluttered his eyes open now, to his feet, even though he knew that was probably impossible. “But you,” Peter continued. “You stay.”

Laurent’s heart stuttered again. He was going to have to leave Damen’s side yet again, not knowing how he was doing at any given time, and stay here with this madman. He looked down into Damen’s face, catching his soft brown gaze. He smiled up at Laurent serenely, with all the confidence in the world, and nodded almost imperceptibly. With that look, Laurent felt himself resolve. 

He was the smoothest talker on the force by far. If it’d been him inside here rather than Damen, they would have apprehended the man an hour ago. He could do this.

Laurent looked back up to Peter, the hand not staunching the flow of blood from Damen’s side subtly squeezing his husband’s between them. “Okay. If you’re not going to let me leave, then at least let these two young women help my husband out. They haven’t pissed you off like I have. Let them go?”

Peter sneered at him but nodded. “Fine. But let me tell you, officer, that’s the last negotiation you’re going to make. From now on, you’re subject to my rules. Got it?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Laurent fought to keep his smirk to himself as the two women helped Damen out through the door. Now that his husband on the other hostages in immediate danger were safe, it was just Laurent, Paschal, and Peter. And Laurent knew Peter’s attention would stay on him from now on, because he’d make it so. 

And so, Laurent started talking, making Peter pace back and forth absent-mindedly, and he didn’t shut up until a tranquilizer dart made it through the window and into Peter’s exposed neck. 

—-

Three hours later, Laurent was running through the hospital corridors in search of room 523. We he found it, he hesitated outside the door. He had no clue what he’d find when he went in—they’d had not communication from the hospital on the scene and Auguste knew only as much as Laurent did. Even though Damen had walked out, that didn’t mean he was in the clear. Laurent’s stomach churned with guilt and fear he’d never felt before in his life.

Sooner or later, though, his fear of the unknown was outweighed by his need to see Damen. So, he pushed the door open and strode straight to his husband’s side. 

He was overwhelmed with relief when Damen opened his eyes upon his approach, and smiled knowingly at him. “I’m fine, darling. The bullet barely even entered, and no organs touched. Turns out all these muscles are actually good for something, other than making my beloved husband weak at the knees,” he joked. 

Laurent gave a watery laugh and rolled his eyes. When Damen’s hand reached out to his he clasped it tightly, letting himself sink into the relief he’d been yearning for ever since he’d seen Damen take that bullet. 

“You’re lucky his choice of weapon was a tiny pistol. Anything more and you wouldn’t be making jokes right now,” Laurent scolded. Damen just shrugged as if to say ‘Doesn’t matter now, does it?’ Laurent sighed and asked, “Did they tell you when you’ll be out of here?”

“Yeah, they got the bullet out right when I got here, so they said they wanted to just observe me for the night. I’ll be discharged in the morning. Sorry I couldn’t make you lobster like I promised,” Damen murmured. “I had to go into the bank to get cash for the market down by the pier. Only the freshest for my beloved.” He smiled again at his own teasing. Laurent smacked him lightly on the arm.

“You can make me lobster tomorrow night. But you better make the special wine and cream sauce to make up for this debacle, you oaf,” Laurent teased back. God, it felt good to let the tension go. Laurent felt like he’d been wound up like barbed wire for days, even though it had only been about five hours. 

“Anything for you, love. Anything,” Damen breathed, reaching a hand up to caress it through Laurent’s hair. 

“Laurent?”

“Yes?”

“Happy anniversary,” Damen said with a radiant smile. 

Laurent just grabbed his hand and nuzzled it with his cheek, smiling into the brown skin.


End file.
